Adrenaline Junkie
by chasingriver
Summary: Sherlock goes to Machu Picchu and comes back with more than snapshots. Mycroft intervenes. Sherlock/Mycroft


**A/N**: For the lovely _**deklava**_, who came up with the prompt, and then beta'd the story for me!

**Summary**: Sherlock goes to Machu Picchu and comes back with more than snapshots. Mycroft intervenes.

**Warnings**: sibling incest

* * *

"But Sherlock, darling, it'll be your eighteenth birthday. I'd like to get you something special."

"I already have everything I want, Mummy. Really, it's not necessary. Besides, birthdays are so arbitrary," he sulked.

Violet Holmes sighed. "Must you always be so difficult, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up with a hopeful expression on his face. "Actually, there is something, but it's a bit on the extravagant side."

"Yes, dear?"

"Machu Picchu. I've always wanted to go, and I'll be going to university in the autumn. Now would be the perfect time." He'd been nursing an obsession for Incan archaeology for weeks now.

She'd agreed (of course), and he'd gone.

And in theory, it should have been a brilliant adventure, except that it wasn't anywhere near _adventurous _enough. The ruins had been lovely. He'd even managed to bribe one of the tour operators so he could stay overnight; the sunrise through the ancient stone windows had been spectacular.

But it wasn't _enough. _It was too boring. Which was how he'd found himself in a rat-infested alleyway in Cuzco, conducting a business transaction with a large Peruvian man named Luyes. It had all gone remarkably smoothly. Back in his hotel room, he split the cocaine into multiple bags and attached them tightly to his body with medical tape. Once he put his clothes on, they were unnoticeable.

He had no intention of using it, or even selling it, he just wanted to see if he could get away with it. He was still a few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, and there would be no _serious _criminal repercussions if he was caught. Besides, Mycroft was the Chief of Security at Heathrow; if anything did go wrong, Mycroft would take care of it.

It was a long trip back: nineteen hours, including connections in Lima and Madrid. By the time he got to Heathrow, he was exhausted.

He made his way through the long line at Immigration, finally arriving at a kiosk.

The Immigration Officer gave him a bored look and started asking questions in a dull monotone.

"Where are you coming from?"

"Peru."

"What was the purpose of your visit?"

"I went to see Machu Picchu."

"And how long were you there?"

"Five days, including travel time."

"Thank you." He returned Sherlock's passport and pointed towards Customs.

Sherlock knew what to expect - Customs had a Red Lane and a Green Lane. If you had nothing to declare, you took the Green Lane. More often than not, it was deserted, without even an officer on duty. If you had something to declare, you took the Red Lane. You declared your dubious item (usually cheese or wine, apparently), and after searching your bags for more of the offending item, they confiscated it. Then they smiled politely and absconded with your wine and cheese to have a good nosh-up in the back, laughing all the while at how much of an idiot you were to declare anything.

There was no way he was doing this without a little bit of a challenge. He'd brought back cheese, and he intended to declare it.

He smiled to himself as he took the Red Lane and put on his best "confused student" look. The Customs Agent gave him a bored stare.

"What do you have to declare, sir?"

"Well, um, I brought back some cheese, and I didn't realise I wasn't supposed to have it. It's only a little bit, but then I saw that it was on the list of banned items, and I didn't want to cause any sort of problem…"

The Agent cut him off. "Please just open your bag, sir."

"Oh, yes, of course." He placed his small wheeled bag on the low metal table and opened it, babbling like an idiot as he did so. "If I'd known it was banned, of course I wouldn't have bought it. I just thought I should get something for my mother, and there was this local goat cheese from the mountains that I thought she would like."

The Customs Agent looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. "Look mate, it's the end of my shift. I'm sorry I have to take your cheese. Go buy your mum something from the shop and tell her you got it there, alright?"

Sherlock handed over the goat cheese, which by this point was a disgusting, squishy mess, and re-zipped his luggage. He did his best to look disappointed. "Alright. Thank you."

He walked, shoulders slumped (but not _too _slumped), towards the exit. The rush of getting away with it was already coursing through him. He idly wondered if cocaine would dissolve in water, and whether or not it would make an effective rat poison. Perhaps it would just make the rats feel utterly invincible before it killed them. He was definitely going to use this for experiments before he disposed of it.

He walked around a corner to head into the main terminal, only to see a familiar figure. _Mycroft_.

"Sherlock. Welcome back." Neither his voice nor his manner seemed particularly welcoming, unless you counted the smug smile on his face.

"Hello, Mycroft."

"Come with me, little brother."

"Why? The car's waiting outside. I phoned when we touched down."

"You're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you."

"What the hell, Mycroft? I just had a nineteen hour flight. I'm exhausted. I don't know what sort of game you're playing at, but it's bloody annoying."

Mycroft grasped his wrist firmly and pulled him towards an unmarked white door. "Don't make a scene, Sherlock. I stopped by because I knew you were getting in today. Then I saw you on the monitor - you went through the Red Lane with that innocent look on your face. You're clearly up to something, and I intend to find out what it is." He pressed some numbers into a keypad and opened the door, dragging Sherlock inside.

They were in a long hallway with more unmarked, locked doors.

"This is ridiculous, Mycroft. I was just getting a rise out of them with some goat cheese. I'm sure they're making a nice lunch of it as we speak."

"Don't patronise me, Sherlock." He stopped at another door and typed in the security code. The door beeped and he pushed Sherlock inside. "Keep your mouth shut."

Sherlock scanned the room. There was a security camera in one of the upper corners, and no windows.

Mycroft went to a panel and punched in another code. The door bolted shut and the red recording light on the camera went off.

"Bloody hell, Mycroft! What's your problem?"

"An irritating prat of a brother, that's what. Honestly, what made you think you could get away with this?"

"With what?"

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say cocaine smuggling, but I could be wrong I suppose."

"Don't be absurd. I'm leaving. Unlock the door."

Mycroft grabbed the collar of his woven cotton shirt and shoved him against the wall with a thud. He crowded up against him. "You're not going anywhere, Sherlock. Not until I'm satisfied."

Something in the tone of his voice made Sherlock pause. He dropped his voice an octave and looked up at his brother through his eyelashes. "What sort of satisfaction are you looking for, brother-mine? Not getting out enough lately?"

Mycroft slapped him across the face, hard.

Sherlock rubbed his cheek and glared at him. "You fucking twat. Wait until I tell Mummy about this."

"Wait until I tell her about the drugs."

"I told you, I'm not carrying any goddamn drugs!"

"And I don't believe you. Strip."

"What?"

"Strip. Or I'll turn the video back on and turn you over for 'Suspicion of Carrying Explosives'. You won't get out of here without a body cavity search if I do that."

"You must be joking."

Mycroft gave him a tight smile. "Not in the least. Now do it, or I'll cut the clothes off you myself." He released his grip on the shirt.

Sherlock sighed and sat on the single metal chair. He toed off his shoes. He started to wish he'd made more of an effort to conceal the drugs. He bent over to take off his socks, taking far more time than was necessary. Perhaps Mycroft would get bored with the game and leave him alone.

"_Must_ you move at a glacial pace, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he replied with a sneer.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock from the chair and ripped open his shirt. Buttons flew in all directions and exposed his chest, along with two of the cocaine packets.

Mycroft glared at him. "You idiot, Sherlock! What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

"I'm not eighteen. If anyone had _actually _caught me, I'd get off with a warning."

"For this much cocaine? It doesn't matter how old you are. You wouldn't be getting off with a warning, I assure you."

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, this is only part of it. I've got a quarter kilo on me," he added, with a note of pride in his voice.

Mycroft made an exasperated noise and started undoing Sherlock's trousers.

"What are you doing? Look, you 'caught' me. Fine. I'll flush the cocaine and you'll buy me a new shirt to replace the one you just ruined." He decided not to mention the experiments with the rats.

Mycroft gave a short laugh and pulled down his brother's linen trousers. There were six more packets of cocaine taped to his legs.

"Oh, dear God. They would have locked you away for years for this, Sherlock," he said, with despair.

"I didn't get _caught_!" he protested. "You don't count; you won't turn me in."

"No, you're right. I won't. But I am going to punish you."

"Oh, I don't think so."

Mycroft threw him back up against the wall and held him there. "Look, you little prat, I'll spare Mummy the public humiliation of a court case, and I'm not going to destroy your life by sending you to jail, but I _am _prepared to tell her, and I _can_ stop you from going to Cambridge."

After hearing about Cambridge, all the fight went out of him. _That _wasn't worth it.

"So, what do you plan on doing?"

"Well, first I'm going to make sure I get all the drugs so I can get rid of them properly. Stand there, arms and legs wide."

Sherlock, wearing only his underpants, sulked his way to the centre of the room and stood with his arms out to his sides.

Mycroft pushed his legs further apart with his toe. "I don't want to hear another word out of you unless I ask you a question. Got it?"

Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft started with one of the packets on his inner thigh. In Sherlock's efforts to keep the contents flat and unobtrusive, he'd held each bag down with three strips of very sticky medical tape. Mycroft grabbed one corner of the tape and started slowly pulling it off. It seemed to be taking most of Sherlock's leg hair with it.

"Fuck, Mycroft! That bloody hurts! Just rip it off and get it over with."

Mycroft gave him a sadistic smile. "No. I think it'll make more of an impression this way. And if you don't keep your mouth shut, you'll end up with tape there as well."

Sherlock gritted his teeth as Mycroft performed what was possibly the slowest depilatory job ever.

As the final packet was removed, Sherlock took a deep, shuddering breath. The procedure had been far more painful that it needed to be, but it had left him oddly… on edge. Not aroused, exactly, but not as furious with Mycroft as he should have been.

Mycroft went to a small cabinet on the wall and Sherlock moved to pick up his clothes.

"Not so fast, Sherlock. Bend over the table."

"What? You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"This doesn't look like a quarter kilo to me. Unless you actually swallowed the rest, there's only one other place it can be."

"Wait, no! I swear that's it! They must have ripped me off or something. Why on earth would I do something that stupid? If the bag ruptured, it would kill me."

"Because doing the rest of this was in no way stupid _at all_," Mycroft said, sarcastically. "Bend over. I'm actually trained to do this, you know."

"You should put that on your resume. It might improve your social life."

Mycroft snarled at him and pushed him across the cold, steel table. "Cambridge. I wasn't joking. Stay there." He grabbed some nitrile gloves and lubricant from the cabinet. Body cavity searches were not out of the ordinary, and all the rooms were well stocked for it.

Sherlock propped his head on his hands with a resigned sigh. "Fine, get it over with," he said, as nonchalantly as is possible when your brother is about to stick his fingers up your arse.

Mycroft pulled Sherlock's pants down around his ankles, then snapped on the gloves and squirted some lubricant onto his fingers. He attempted to slowly press a finger inside his brother's arse, but Sherlock's sphincter was clamped shut.

"You've got to relax, Sherlock. You lied to me about the cocaine; I can't in good conscience _not _do this." Mycroft's voice was strained. "Look, I know you've had boyfriends. Surely, you've…"

"No!" Sherlock snapped at him. "I've never done this, okay? I'm a goddamned virgin. Are you happy?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I really am. I… I didn't know. Look, just try and relax, okay? It's really not that bad if you do, I swear." He took off one glove and caressed Sherlock's back as his other finger traced small, wet circles at his entrance.

Slowly, Sherlock started to relax.

Mycroft gently pushed the pad of his gloved finger against Sherlock's hole and it slid inside without effort. They both let out sighs of relief.

"So that's it then?"

"Not quite, Sherlock. I need two fingers in there to do a proper search." He moved his finger, trying to stretch Sherlock a little to prepare him for the second finger. As he pulled it back out to add the second, it lightly skimmed over his brother's prostate.

Sherlock made an incomprehensible noise and almost levitated off the table. His cock had taken a very sudden interest in the proceedings. "Again. Do that again."

"No."

"Please, Mycroft," he begged. "I had no idea it would feel that good."

"Oh, so _now_ you see what you've been missing. Look, I have to do this to make sure you don't end up with a massive cocaine overdose, but I refuse to have this whole fiasco end with you getting off on prostate stimulation." He reached around and squeezed his brother's semi-erect cock. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Mycroft added a second finger and tried to feel around for any baggies of cocaine. Sherlock squirmed on the table, hoping he could make Mycroft brush his prostate again. Mycroft clamped his free hand firmly on Sherlock's lower back, pinning him down. "Stop wriggling, you little brat."

Sherlock had gotten over his initial fear of penetration and was now moaning and actively trying to fuck himself on Mycroft's fingers.

Mycroft smacked his brother's arse, hard. Without thinking, his two fingers and thumb curled in as he did it, simultaneously stimulating both Sherlock's prostate and his perineum. His brother let out a throaty yell of utter pleasure and threw his head back.

"Jesus, Sherlock. You're not supposed to be enjoying this," he exclaimed, as he pulled his fingers out of his brother and binned the glove. "I didn't find anything; I guess you were just ripped off, after all."

"I _told _you that was all of it. Now put your fingers back in there, it felt amazing."

"No!" His voice was downright indignant.

"Fine. I'll do it myself." He put one finger in between his full lips and sucked on it, and then he reached behind his back and shoved it in his arse.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. This is neither the time nor the place!" He pinned both of Sherlock's wrists behind his back and leaned on them with his forearm as he retrieved his handcuffs. He secured Sherlock's wrists behind his back almost before his brother realised what was happening. Then he pulled him off the table and sat down in the metal chair, simultaneously pulling his brother down across his knees.

"I've had it with you, Sherlock." He landed the first series of blows on Sherlock's bare arse and his brother yelped. "I swear to God I have no idea how to make you understand. You're an idiot. Brilliant, but a fucking idiot, and you're driving me insane." He kept striking Sherlock's arse and thighs as hard as he could. "How do I make you understand you can't pull stupid stunts like this?" He continued spanking him, his voice full of desperation and rage.

Sherlock had been stunned when Mycroft started. He'd never gotten a spanking in his life. It had hurt like hell, at first. And then, like the tape incident, it sort of… hadn't. As Mycroft continued thrashing him, his crotch started tingling more than his arse did, and his cock started to get hard. As he tuned out his brother's ranting, he let himself relax into the spanking and wondered when Mycroft would notice that his erection was poking him in the thigh.

As it turned out, it took quite a while. Mycroft had all kinds of pent up frustration about his brother's idiocy, and Sherlock had a higher tolerance for pain than either one of them had realised. When Mycroft finally stopped yelling at him (and spanking him), silence fell over the room. Sherlock realised he was probably expecting some sort of apology.

"Look, I'm sorry, Mycroft. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and I won't do it again." And he _was _sort of sorry. He'd done it just for the thrill of it. He hadn't realised the potential consequences, or just how much it would upset Mycroft. And although he did love upsetting Mycroft, he had to admit that this much stress and frustration really went beyond his normal levels of fraternal torture.

And then there was the matter of the erection. He was fairly sure normal people didn't get off on being spanked. Then again, _normal _people didn't harbour incestuous thoughts about their older brother. _Normal is boring, anyway._ He didn't think his feelings were reciprocated, but he couldn't be sure, and the endorphin high of the spanking had made him bolder than usual in matters of sex.

Mycroft had just unlocked the handcuffs when Sherlock deliberately shifted his position across his brother's legs and let his now completely-erect penis poke him in the thigh. Mycroft froze.

Sherlock twisted his body around so he could see Mycroft's face. His genuinely shy smile was completely wasted; Mycroft eyes were shut so tightly that his face was a mass of anguished wrinkles. He looked as if he was trying to undo the events of the last ten seconds through sheer will alone. Sherlock crawled onto Mycroft's lap and straddled him, their faces only inches apart. His erection… well, he'd ignore that for the moment. It probably wasn't going away, but he certainly wasn't going to draw any more attention to it right now. It was quite possible he'd broken Mycroft.

"My," he whispered, stroking the back of his fingers up and down Mycroft's cheek, "are you alright?"

Mycroft shook his head and relaxed a little, but refused to open his eyes.

_If he didn't feel something, he would have pushed me off by now. _"Look at me, My. Please?"

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes.

Sherlock had never seen them at such close range, and he temporarily lost himself studying their clear, perfect blueness.

He snapped out of it when Mycroft spoke.

"We can't, Sherlock. This is wrong."

"Why? I don't understand…" he asked, with the innocence of a two year old.

"Society doesn't…"

"Oh, fuck Society, My," he interrupted with sudden irritation. "As far as Society is concerned, being gay is wrong too. That never stopped either of us. Besides," he added quietly as he broke his brother's gaze, "I just want to know… well… if you have any interest. At all."

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look at his brother during the agonising seconds that followed.

"Of course I do," Mycroft breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock's eyes were full of hope as they shot back up to Mycroft's face. "Really?"

Mycroft smiled and nodded.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him. He didn't have any experience with sex, but both his boyfriends had assured him that he was an excellent kisser. He approached Mycroft carefully, like one would approach a skittish animal. Mycroft flinched as their lips touched, but he didn't back away. Sherlock opened his mouth a fraction and touched the tip of his tongue to his brother's lips. Then, to his great surprise, Mycroft was kissing him back.

When Mycroft finally pulled away (because God knows, Sherlock wasn't going to be the one to do it) there was an odd mixture of awe and confusion on his brother's face.

Sherlock thought for a moment, deduced the unasked question, and answered it. "No, it's not just a game; I really do feel this way. I have for a while."

With the unbearable tension behind them, Sherlock squirmed forward on Mycroft's lap. He blatantly ground his arse against Mycroft's groin as he kissed him again.

His brother made a low noise in reply and muttered, "Not fair…" through the kiss.

When Sherlock felt Mycroft's hand squeeze his sore arse and trail a single finger between his cheeks, he decided his brother had overcome his 'Societal Conditioning'. The finger flitted lightly against his sensitive hole and then kept moving in a slow tease towards his lower back. _Well, that just upped the stakes._

Sherlock retaliated by sucking on his ear and then biting it. It was difficult to retaliate with Mycroft so _clothed. _He could feel his brother's erection pressing insistently against him, so he started fumbling with Mycroft's trousers. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world - he was mostly sitting on them.

Mycroft stopped sucking a bruise into Sherlock's neck long enough to mutter, "You'd better be sure this is what you want, because if you change your mind halfway through, I _will _kill you."

"I want you to fuck me senseless. Are we both on the same page?"

"For once in our lives we completely agree on something." He half-lifted, half-pushed Sherlock off his lap. "You get the lube. I'll take care of my clothes."

Getting the lube only took a second, and Sherlock was more than happy to help with Mycroft's trousers. He dropped to his knees to help him out of his underpants. Or, more realistically, to get up close and personal with his cock. Whatever. It was thick and hard, and Sherlock couldn't help himself. As Mycroft undid his shirt, he wrapped his lips around the fat head of it and his brother's knees almost gave out.

A strangled cry escaped Mycroft's lips and he resisted the urge to grab Sherlock's head and shove himself further inside the tight wet heat of his mouth. It took a few seconds for his brain to start working again. "Sherlock, don't. (Hngghhh.) If you want me to fuck you…" he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as Sherlock's tongue did unspeakable things to the underside of his cock.

Sherlock pulled off with a satisfying 'pop' and a smug grin on his face. "Where do you want me, Mycroft?" he asked, only slightly lasciviously.

"Where _don't_ I want you?" he muttered to himself before realising it wasn't a rhetorical question. "On the table? Maybe you could ride me?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled to himself; Mycroft had just disciplined him and spanked his arse until it glowed, and now he was politely negotiating sexual positions. Somehow, as disparate as those actions were, they were both utterly Mycroftian. He stood up and kissed his brother so hard they both came up gasping for air. "Glad I waited," he said with a quick smile before he darted over to the table and climbed on top of it.

Mycroft climbed up as well. "God, this is colder than a morgue table. And hard. Next time, we'll do this with pillows, on a bed."

Sherlock hopped off the table and returned with an armful of clothes. He spread them out like a makeshift blanket and balled up his ruined shirt as a pillow.

"Thanks," said Mycroft, and gratefully shifted over. "Here, kneel in front of me on all fours and I'll work you open first. Even if you get off on a bit of pain, this isn't supposed to hurt."

As turned on as they both were, Mycroft took his time and worked first one finger, then two, into his tight arse.

"Christ, Sherlock. I wish you could see this; you look incredible. Your arse is still a lovely shade of pink, and the way my fingers just disappear into you like that... bloody hell." He gave both fingers a twist and Sherlock writhed beneath him. "What do you think, a third?"

"No, I'm ready," Sherlock said with a desperate edge to his voice. "I want you inside me, Mycroft."

"Here, let me lie down, then you straddle my waist facing me. That'll let you take me as slow or as fast as you want. Don't rush."

Sherlock climbed on top of him and braced his hands against his brother's chest as he aligned his knees. He somewhat nervously grasped Mycroft's lubed cock and steadied himself above it. He sighed as he lowered himself onto it and felt the tip press against his entrance. He studied the tender expression on his brother's face as he concentrated on relaxing his muscles; he'd never witnessed Mycroft without his hard outer shell of composure; seeing him so unguarded and affectionate like this bordered on the surreal.

"You alright, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded and gasped as the head of it breached him. "Fuck, My… hngghh… feels good." And then he was actively pushing down onto it, and in one long, slow push, he took the entire length of his brother all the way inside him. He gave his body some time to adjust and then started slowly fucking himself. As it got easier and faster, Mycroft reached out and pulled him down so they were lying with their chests together.

"My turn for a while," he said, and started thrusting into him hard and fast.

"Oh… fuck. Yes." Sherlock's brain went offline for a while. All of existence collapsed down to him and Mycroft and the slick slide of his brother's cock. Some of the strokes glanced across his prostate and sent cascades of sensation through his body; others just pounded into him and satisfied his thirst for penetration, leaving him soaring.

"God, Sherlock, you feel amazing," Mycroft hissed into his ear between desperate thrusts. "Not enough of you, though." He wrapped his arms around his brother, braced, and rolled them both over so Sherlock was on his back with his legs around Mycroft's waist.

Sherlock grinned like a maniac and moved his legs so his feet were resting against Mycroft's arse. "Nice move."

Mycroft pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in with punishing force.

"Hngggh. And, I see… more leverage," Sherlock managed to gasp. "Keep going, God…" Each thrust seemed to be hitting his prostate in this position. Between that, and the sweaty slide of his brother's body against his cock, he was almost there.

"Can't last much longer, Sherlock… sorry."

It didn't matter, because Sherlock came then, violently; brilliant patterns exploded in front of his closed eyes and his strangled yell filled the room as his cock painted its hot, sticky fluid against his chest.

It only took a couple more strokes before Mycroft shoved inside him and stayed there, moaning and shuddering as he released his load deep inside Sherlock.

Mycroft collapsed on top of him and they both just lay there for a while, too exhausted and overcome to think, let alone speak.

His brother eventually rolled over so they were lying beside each other. "You alright, Sherlock?"

"Hm?" He twisted onto his side to face him.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, not at all, My. It was wonderful," he beamed. "I was wondering though…"

"Yes?"

"When were you on a morgue table?"

Mycroft actually blushed. "That's a story for another time, and certainly another place. Come on, we should get out of here before someone wonders why the camera has been off for so long."

The body cavity search supplies provided them with some useful clean-up items, and the only real casualties of their tryst were Sherlock's shirt and his virginity. He tucked the button-less shirt into his trousers with the hope that he'd look less like a testosterone-fuelled tourist, and they managed to buy him a new one at one of the airport shops. He'd always wondered why such shops existed - he doubted post-coital clothing replacement could be the only reason.

They'd stashed the cocaine in his luggage, deciding it was much safer to dispose of it at home, where there weren't hundreds of security cameras following their every move. Mycroft rode home with him - he'd taken the afternoon off anyway. By the time they got back, they both looked almost respectable, and certainly not like they'd just fucked each other senseless in an airport interrogation room. Sherlock's arse still tingled a bit from the spanking, but that was more of a pleasant reminder than anything.

When they got back to the house, Mummy was lounging in the library with a magazine.

"Oh, hello, Sherlock dear. Back already?"

"Hello, Mummy. Yes, Mycroft came to meet me. Wasn't that nice of him?"

"Yes. Did you have a nice time?"

"I did. Thank you."

"Oh, good. You weren't bored?"

"Not in the least," he answered, smiling at Mycroft and wondering when he could get him alone again.


End file.
